


Allies on the Road

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post Apocalyptic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met on the Blue Line to Long Beach, hoping like everyone else who'd made it this far West to catch the last ship off these shores.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allies on the Road

They met on the Blue Line to Long Beach, hoping like everyone else who'd made it this far West to catch the final voyage of the Queen Mary, last ship off these shores. They were both looking around, both thinking they definitely could outrun everyone here if they had to; they were strong and quick and young. That's when they caught each other's eye. Clyde thought he had looked first, 'cause he hadn't felt eyes on him. It wasn't until later, when he found out that Craig could look at you for hours without you knowing, that he thought Craig probably had seen him first and had just waited for Clyde to look back.

Clyde didn't know his name on the train, of course. Neither of them said a word, just looked, sizing each other up, and Clyde thought it would be close. He thought it might come down to desperation, because they were matched pretty well physically as far as he could see. Yeah, he thought it would probably come down to desperation and maybe luck, because luck was always lurking around looking to foul you or raise you up, depending on its whim that day.

Their eyes met again, and this time they smiled at each other.

When the train pulled into Transit Mall, they bolted. Clyde was right: it was close. He didn't feel the flick or shiver of bad luck, so he thought the other boy must have been that little bit more desperate, or maybe he was just a little bit better. He was a little bit something enough to pull away and beat Clyde to the dock, beat everyone on the train they came in on.

Not enough to catch the ship, though. They stood side by side, watching the QM back out to sea. Watched others fly by them, jumping futilely into the water, not enough desperation in the world to get them anywhere—they'd never make it to the ship and even if they did, there was no way to scale the sides.

"Motherfuckers," the boy beside him said, and when Clyde turned to look at him the boy didn't look back but he did switch fingers, folding down his middle one and raising his index. Clyde followed the trajectory of his pointing finger and saw them, the gunmen on the decks, rifles sighted and ready.

"Fuck me," Clyde breathed, because he knew it was bad but not that it had come to this.

"Fuck _them_." The boy flipped them off again, then dropped his hand. "Fuck this." He nudged Clyde's shoulder with his own as he turned. "Come on, man."

Clyde watched a few more people jump into the harbor, then ran to catch up. "Where are we going?"

"Mexico."

Clyde laughed but the boy didn't. When he understood that the boy was serious, Clyde laughed again. But he fell into step, anyhow.

They exchanged names the first time they stopped on the side of the road, not bothering to look for a tree, just getting far enough off the shoulder that they wouldn't get sideswiped or anything while they pissed. It was a funny thing to give a guy your name with your dick in your hand, but then again, Clyde couldn't really think of a better time to do it.

Their feet were totally fucked that night, blisters on every toe and between them, a patch of skin on Clyde's instep worn away by the pebble he hadn't bothered to take out, thought he could just take it and look where that got him. The next day was worse, feet curling in, trying to protect the blisters that covered the balls of their feet, feet so swollen they could hardly get them back into their shoes so they tried walking barefoot but that hadn't worked at all and in the end they just shoved in, shoved on, their steps rolling beneath them as the puss inside the blisters shifted; and then there was a sensation, his nerves shivered like they thought there should be pain but there wasn't, just a weird kind of numbness. And then the rolling was gone in one foot and it was bearing weight properly. It was another mile or so before the blister on the bottom of his other foot popped, and then things were a lot better.

They made it to the U.S.-Mexico border, only to be met by more motherfuckers, only Craig didn't call them that this time. He looked at the border guards and their guns, and he looked at Clyde, and he didn't say anything. They watched a man make a running start at the fence and they both had enough Spanish to understand what the guards were shouting, but maybe the man didn't, or maybe he just didn't care, maybe he had too much desperation by then, because he fell down shot through the neck before he even got within touching distance of that fence.

Clyde was looking at the man's face when another bullet hole appeared in his head, and he thought it was probably a mercy, and he also thought he might throw up.

Then he felt Craig's shoulder again, and Craig didn't need to tell him to come on this time, Clyde just went with him.

Later, around the same time he was starting to understand how Craig could look at you forever and you'd never know if he didn't want you to, when he started to understand a lot of other things about Craig, he thought that Craig had probably been thinking of sneaking across the border or maybe fucking his way through the border guards or something. When he finally asked, Craig confirmed it. "You could have gone without me," Clyde said, but Craig shook his head.

"We were allies by then," Craig said.

He didn't smile when he said it and Clyde didn't either. That was back when he still wanted to be Craig's friend, before he knew that Craig doesn't believe in friends: just motherfuckers and allies and what they are to each other in the dark, something they don't name. One time Craig had whispered, "only you," but Clyde knows that's not the name of anything. He doesn't need to name it because it's less important than what they have the rest of the time, which is each other, allies on the road.


End file.
